


Pinch of Perspective

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Upon Request [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Body Worship, Breeding, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Consensual Underage Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, Food Kink, Food Sex, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Intersex, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of sex work, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Alpha Apothecary took off in ways Derek never anticipated and now he's not only found a place in Beacon Hills, but he's inspired others. There's talk of him practically being key to the city material. Stiles just has to do a little persuading to get him to believe it himself.





	Pinch of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was requested over at my tumblr, (drivenbyadevilshunger). If you'd like to leave me a prompt of your own, hit up my inbox!

A pillar of the community. That's something Derek never thought people would say of him, not even in his days on the force. He wasn't like Sheriff Stilinski, he wasn't a fatherly force that looked out for everyone below him. Maybe in his later years he would have inspired such affections, would have come to mean that to his community. But as a young man, that wasn't quite right, the boot didn't fit.

Derek hadn't minded. He didn't search that out for himself. It wasn't something that he had wanted or needed, it wasn't a fulfillment that he had found necessary in his life. He was content to just be of the people, among them. It was an odd way to describe it, but that was nonetheless true. He enjoyed being part of something, part of a larger hole.

It put something at ease inside the body of a man that grew up with a family big enough they referred to themselves as a clan. And yet, when it came upon him, when he was bestowed with such a title, regardless of his feelings on the matter, that sat just as easy.

He had to adjust his shoulders, felt certain things shift inside him, but he came out the other end feeling even more himself than he had ever been. Alpha Apothecary was the center of many a scene in their little town. Bookclubs rented the sleepy atmosphere for gossipy late nights. Teenagers offered up their meager lunch hours to be part of the hype. Regulars had usuals and favorite servers and exact change.

Derek felt so comfortable in it that the days blended together, but not in a bad way. It wasn't that his life was flashing forward, that it was all the same—a monotonous mush. It was him living in the moment, so alive in every instance that he sometimes forgot to look back and realize how much time had gone. He wasn't caught up in anything, but the bustle of neighbors, friends, and family.

They'd expanded their menu, their staff, their lineage. Stiles was swollen with a litter, blushing and beautiful and besotted. He mostly sat behind counter these days, ankles so swollen customers would come to massage _his_ feet. He'd smile at them, make minimal effort to wave them away, but ended up accepting the generosity as he managed the till.

His breast milk was a big seller. His puffy, pouty pink nipples constantly leaked. The sticky, sweet, musky liquid was great for lightening coffees, brought that signature flavor to the glaze on many popular cereal treats. Stiles usually pumped it himself, baring his soft tits and pulling at their sensitive nubs the way he knew ached the least. But customers often tipped extra to milk him themselves, grope and pinch at them, take a drink warm from his skin.

The attention made him wet, tacky and molten at his core. Derek had not yet put a price on that cunt, though he harvested slick often. Even for a place where he was often fucked unto orgasm in front of dozens, it felt to intimate to share his pupped up mate. Not straight from his body. The slick was good for simple syrups, cobblers and drizzle cakes.

Stiles' fertility marked an uptick in their sales, a noticeable voracity in their customers. Derek wasn't sure if it was just his musk permeating the small space, or if his fluids actually reached something deep inside their patrons, but either way he couldn't complain too much. It had attracted many a local boy, freshly presented and drop jawed at the sight of such a fecund creature.

They'd loitered at first, made excuses to be there without purchasing food. Stiles indulged them even as Derek huffed, petting their heads as they nursed from him, chuckling softly when they creamed their pants rutting against his thigh. Derek had jealously fucked their little asses a couple times, asserting dominance as he knotted those who thought they might breed.

Stiles just tutted at him, rolled his eyes and told him to behave while the boys keened. To make up for it, Derek offered them jobs—just little part time things after school, scheduled around homework. It was so endearing to see them all trussed up in their aprons, modeled after him. Their bodies were still reedy and thin, body hair spotty and sparse. Their cocks had grown long already, but lacked the thickness, the musk of an adult's like Derek's.

Their flavors were milder, but ruts and stamina much easier to wrangle. It was simple to make them come, fuzzy thighs quivering, bellies all aflutter. Patrons took a fondness to them, teasing and enticing them, stringing them out until they were so cum-dumb they were like lost puppies.

They made excellent fruit salads with their watery spunk, stored warm melon up their asses in the summer, stone fruits come fall. The juices often ran down their fattening balls, the backs of their thighs, so like Stiles. The ripe fruit combined with their sex made the air inside heady, spiced, like a mulled wine.

A couple of them even came with their own ideas, invested in the business, excited by the chance of being self-made, innovators like Derek had been. A shy, sweet thing named Isaac stayed late at night to use their ovens for soaps. Clay and salt. Omega milk and alpha cum. He wrapped them in burlap, sold them at the register. All natural ingredients sure to nourish the skin.

One of Derek's younger cousins, pretty and petulant, found himself of little patience for the customer service angle, but enjoyed the sex-work, moving on to make arrangements with the sheriff's office and co-opting an abandoned motel. It turned an eyesore in town to a hideout for those unmated. Heats could safely be spent in the arms of someone you knew and trusted.

Others still found this an enriching experience all on its own and asked Derek and Stiles for letters of referral when they moved on to college. Derek couldn't be more proud, couldn't feel more lucky or fulfilled. No more ruts spent alone, sweating, shivering, and tearing into sheets. No more going out behind Stiles' back, desperate for a fuck—any hole that could make the aching of his knot go down. No more waiting for the shoe to drop, sure someone in his squad would uncover the dirty secrets he kept buried so deep.

He got to be himself, out and in the open. He got to feel Stiles' belly at his back as his mate tweaked his nipples and suckled his neck—making sure his cock drooled steady enough for their in-house chocolates to swirled with ample boozy spice. “Someone's all strung out, huh?” Stiles murmured at his temple, taking his time toying with Derek.

His hands moved from chest to hips, holding his mate and moving him to slowly sway with the music filtering into the dining area. They were both confident the boys on the floor could handle themselves, lunch rush long gone, dinner not much an affair for their place. Derek leaned back carefully, just enough to let Stiles feel his weight, but not threaten to topple the poor, pregnant thing over.

“You deserve it, you know. I know it all stressed you out at first, was pretty overwhelming, but you stuck with it babe. And now look at you, at us. You've made quite the little den for yourself.” Stiles continued to stroke over his body, running fingers through pubes and patting a slightly barreled belly.

Derek hummed, not so shy or stubborn anymore about letting himself be doted upon. “'S not just me. Everyone's played their parts, you especially. Couldn't have done it without you.” Derek chews on his lips, rolls his hips as Stiles starts to play more insistently with his cock, grope and tug at his swollen balls.

The leaking of his cock starting to turn pearly, marbling the chocolate slowly stirring beneath them. But neither really notice, airy puffs of breath heated and brushing against each other's faces. Derek turns to nuzzle at Stiles' face, drag their noses along each other, lick at his mate's pretty, pink lips. Stiles takes his hand to lead to a puffy pussy, parted lips just below his chubby cock.

Derek massages those inner walls, fingers sticky with butter and sugar. He'd been trying his hand at pate a choux lately, was thinking eclairs. He had the pastry cream made, ganache in piping bags, spent a slow afternoon fucking hollows into the little donuts with his cock. Stiles clenched his thighs around the digits, rolled his head along his shoulders and mewled.

It had been a long time since they had each other like this, just mouths and hands. Derek could remember back to their furtive meetings in janitor closets, riled after a match. Sweaty and hormonal and smitten.

Stiles' eyes twinkled when Derek laughed, their connection strong enough he was certainly thinking on the same thing. They kissed and kissed and kissed, sucking tongues and nipping lips. Derek felt when Stiles started to convulse, muscles trying to draw him deeper, cum puddling in Derek's palm.

The high of that, the rush of pleasuring his partner, sent him over the edge not long after, grunting as he gushed into their stand mixer, altering the recipe. Stiles laughed, squeezing the last dribbles off over the rim. Derek ruffled the back of his hair, sighing as he pondered what to do with it now.

“You sure I should be in charge of anything? Doesn't seem like pillar of the community material to me.” Stiles swatted at his ass, rolling his eyes as he drug his finger through the mixture, sampled a taste. Derek thought he'd seen extremely few things prettier than his mate's eyelashes fluttering as he sucked on that seed.

“This place could use a little creativity, some improvisation. Definitely too salty to make sweets now... Call up Scott. See if you can rig a mole together.” Derek paused, cocked his hip, made a little harrumph. He pulled Stiles close by the back of his neck and licked into his mouth to get a second opinion.

Pungent, slightly sweet, dark, but richly bitter. “You're right on the chocolate, but I think I'll need a little more convincing on the community leader thing.” Derek pouted, though he couldn't hold it for long, scooping up his sweetheart and holding him in his lap.

“Oh don't worry, I think we've got plenty of time for that.

 


End file.
